Tag Archives: Vivek Bhasin

When Friends become Family – musings on the Batch of 1970 – by Vivek Bhasin

Writings 14 April 2019

When friends become FAMILY

(by a certain Lefroyian from the Class of 1970)

It’s the 14th of April 2019 0945hrs Swedish summer time up in the cloudless blue as I fly between Stockholm and Helsinki on a Finnair Flight…

I suddenly have this explosive surge to write a few lines that have formed after a rapid juxtaposition of words… I try to find a Doric pen, a Bic biro or even a blunt 2B pencil (that I can gnaw off the end with my jagged teeth to find the lead within) ..desperation is the key here as I fumble through my bag but no .. there ain’t no ‘Ship Ahoy’ no ‘Eureka’ moment as a fresh flow is melting.. finally from my frozen brain now thawing with a warm breeze, just as pure coconut oil turns dusky and then transparent from its white snow.. when the heat descends from above.

.. and talking about white, I need parchment to ink my flow of words. My brain is unable to keep those thoughts secure as it’s losing the blotting paper, it’s sponge in my  memory bank. Be it  a fistful of dollars or the code to my account,  the need to ink it all; then if possible memorise, then if possible enact them with highs and lows, speaking loud with conviction, with the right emphasis on punctuation, exclamations and emotions.. like an actor who comes under the spot light, plays his part and soon fades in to oblivion of sunsets; the lights fade, the curtain falls ( sing Greta van Fleet) and he is back in that smoke filled cafe in the third arrondissement where strugglers still burn Gauloises hoping to crack the stage of perfection.

I don’t trust iCloud, never really did…just as the plane encounters turbulence hitting a powerful jet stream and every one is rattled sick ..

… but soon smooth air sailing ..

..too soon as a calm prevails and then tinkering of glasses. Of course this Japanese Samurai sitting in front has bagzed two seats;massive he is yet nimble on his toes he does a pirouette taking a video of the entire length of passengers with his iPad bowing and smiling through his Oriental eyes..

Yet I stay desperado-hungry searching with arms flaying ..my words, my words …

The young blue eye’d blonde air hostess questions my worried look as I whisper “ I need ink.. please I need ink..” Smiling she retrieves a Finnair Biro and handing it to me, words spilling out of my ears, I thank her “Tack så mycket” in Swedish and try to stay focused.

I look around for a blank page but all I find are white spaces above and below today’s “i-paper” from London; a day old sheaf crumbled in the chair pocket .. that’s enough I sing to myself and pour it all out..

When the coffee is hot, even a few empty spaces are enough to spill my writer’s beans. But the cup will soon turn cold and the light brown froth will freeze on to the sides leaving little holes like a fading wave on a beach, the waters gone and little crabs appear ..my words will get lost… until the next high tide…

at our age folks ..the next high may be a long time coming ..

Yet now I write..

Having entered the Linlithgow dorms as a 3 foot 6 inch and a fag paper tall shy shivering little boy of five with ears sticking out like a baby elephant… I was taught the Lord’s prayer, brushed my teeth as the dorm bearer Kanhaiya Lal splattered my cheeks with a blob of Vaseline sold in the Hutties below; rumour had it the local Pandit in residence at White Temple beyond Buffalo pond used to collect slime snails which he made into an awful grimy paste, throwing in some black pepper, basil and putrid water of that from that stagnation ..

Indeed ! This concoction was trumpeted as a sure cure for dried cheeks and lips. KL as I shorten the bearer’s name was the middle man who brokered the deal to get fresh turnips in exchange for a sale to  the Hutti wullah who purchased this from Panditji in huge cardboard boxes passing the absolutely disgusting no-brand  over to my matron Mrs Goss (anyone could throw the wool over her pretty eyes). The grime stuck in my hair too and stained my pillow with rotten smells; awful is a soft word.

Oh yes, there was  Red Lifebuoy soap too that Mum sent along with my tuck so I could wash my hands after taking a crap (you mean you never have soap over the sink Baba? Little did I tell her there was no water too… and sometimes the shit really hit the fan..).

They say family is forever, friends are chums, chums later are mates and then when realisation dawns and one gets taller most of those “partners in crime” drift away across time zones, across waters and beyond the peaks and valleys of the great Himalaya..until the final roll call.

I solemnly believe friends become family and as fifty years go by the friend – family connection is a bond beyond blood .. it’s a bond that suddenly strengthens and reunites as if yesterday never happened… the moment of 30 November 1970 has looped around and comes swooshing in for a soft landing …at the School Gates. We have waited long enough. It’s time to stop the world rushing by and return.. return to our ABC and 123…and BCS.

Sukhdev Rai was fascinated about my Pa being a Hooghly River Pilot, the guy built the first high rise on Lal Dora land … eventually, pushing his young Cottonian protege to hit the decks ..

Jeet was an expert at making traps.. of all frikin sorts. He had a fertile mind; reports state he was a wild child and now a slightly more stable dude thanks to his Missus.

Anil Chops always screwed his face in defiant agony and walked the Lefroy Dorms “el nonchalante”.. he smashed his Dad’s Embassy Transistor Radio factory into history ..thanks to Embassy one could see the Black Brothers with their Boom-Boom Boxes moonwalking at Times Square. The fad started by Indian “ locals” carrying the Embassy on their shoulders and twisting like Shammi the Kapoor.

Homer always called me “ a Mamma’s boy” his clothes from England formed a new word in my vocab :

S A R T O R I A L

He managed to come across for my 50th and now his accent is stooped with Punjabiness..

Aku played a cool mouth organ, a versatile tenor he lead the school choir and could sing anything from the Beatles to Cliff Richard.. “A” once told me I could pull a mega liner across the water with a shoe string …easy-peazy..

Anil Adu was a stubborn dude and gave a rat’s ass to Goldie’s orders .. .. the bugger maintained shoulder length hair ..the Rock of BCS.. diehard Soldier, Lenswizard and Master-Crafter-Baker… Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsey hate his guts.. so do many others (tough luck as he just doesn’t G.A.F !) …his sister was maha cute! And Salutations to Mum “ Ma’am” my Nature Study teacher .. that’s why I still look for Ferns in Mashobra and Sweden..🙏

PK Singh.. this guy wanted to read my hand and jammed it down .. hard on the desk where a broken point of a divider has scarred my middle finger of my left paw ..the man has now sobered and took an early retirement from the jungle .. settling down in UK.. I mean Uttrakhand. His sister was slim trim and a proper Chelsea lass..Hugs  PK! The Bond grows…

Krit loved his gymnastics, was a lithe boxer who met his match from Shiv Kapoor. I first got the taste of Jintan from K..and yes that monk from Tibet.. K was a philanthropist and I remember the good times in Las Vegas .. R.I.P🙏

Father was born six feet tall the day he was born.. he was focused on researching the female atomic body and was seen (and heard) walking around Scandal Point after lights out..after placing a dummy in his bed … Bakku never cuffed on ..

JSB’s sister looked a doll!

Joel was the only God fearing chap who went to Sunday School praying for all our sins ..Bless You Dr. JAM!

Himesh and Mastu were up to “ purple passages “ and whilst Led Zeppelin hit the charts with Ramble on .. M opened the first drive in at CP aptly naming it Rambles. His Brother was Mr India and came to visit School now and then lifting the end of the Amby (no Jack) so the Driver could change the flat ..!phew…!Himesh became a Travel Agent and ensured Shanker Basu missed his flight and hence was deep soul angry having had to renegade the Deutsche Bank conference in Colombo too!

Raghu was a straight faced devil of a great guy who was working on nominating the Commerce prize..he also knew the dates of the three battles of Panipat by heart ..

Anil M came from an exotic place known for the largest species of butterflies.. Tittlagarh. Another Shakespeare in the making..

Avnesh was a cool hand dude .. he had a game plan..  Rivaz cool hand dude now Luke,  “Thighs and Thailand” were his destined destination ..

Abhai was the sharpest back flipper in the world and blasted my ass catching me sliding down the out-of-bounds Anderson staircase. His hockey skills even had Gyan Chand in awe… Abhai converted his dreams and became a mountaineer. Udechee huts with Swarnima up in pure pristine Dharamsala… he knows Richard Gere intimately…Hail School Capitano🙏

Dilip had the Italian connect and hence the Milano name “ Tinani”.. a pizza is named after him and sold off Fontana de Trevi..

Harry was special … asleep awake or walking sleeping he thought of sex every 9.5 secs …that’s the reason his pug was so perfect …he has written his desertion on the subject

“How to spank the old Monkey” to raving reviews in the NY Times..

Mohinderjit was the special one .. this Ibbetson dude was an all rounder in mischief and inspite of his name on no boards ( for which the heat is on) the writer has nominated MJ’s name for an Oscar for the lead act in the “Academy of Rascals”..MJ (aka Billa) could see in the dark and that’s why Bats zing and ping in dark places …his fiery temper has since subsided thanks to heavy snow falls in Minneapolis.. his Limousine service was linked to Rock Star Prince. Often seen on tip toe looking at OzzzeeTuli’s house ( all cloak and dagger tucked below..!)

Karan was the Ghost Whisperer… Goldie once called him to the lodge to connect with the departed soul of his beloved departed cocker spaniel … it is established that JK Rawling snatched away the book of ghosting logarithms from Karan, and Shakespeare still rolls laughingly in his grave ..

Shanker was a Hongkong Bong wise and wide  chested with a mischievous smile that could  charm and melt one and all .. the dude was a great gymnast..a hockey player and knew where he was headed after Calcutta, Bombay and Delhi..getting a first div was not the problem .. getting five points was..

Smuggler Bill was charting another course of history … the guy knew which window was open; he had that great ability to sniff out the History paper and later made grand plans to derail trams plying in Calcutta … he vanished as an Arab and was last seen riding a camel sitting backwards on the sand dunes of Dubai…

Anil P worked his unique story .. the dude once found a rusty nail in his chicken curry and some jelly like blob in his ice cream .. he vowed to go up to the Artic circle .. another Lothario no one knows how many kids follow him like a Pied Piper .. …with a memory of an Indian Haathi he has Ganesha statues placed in every room and loves Penny Loafers .. (I like Dexter’s) .. innocent? My sorry ass…😁

Rajiv P Shams …likes biology as this was the only way to enter Mrs Kumar’s mind body and soul tactfully, sinfully and with great sensual reality …he flew in from Accra Ghana and after concluding the plot with Mrs VK invented unisex boxer shorts that can dry in two minutes flat, Rolex vouch for that;  later NASA took over his patent.. all US Astronauts wear the RPS brand , Donald T is also interested .. The White House want to see the snug fit and if the tights really protect the family’s jewels ..

Amar Rana was another blighter whose family hailed from Nepal but with great foresight acquired entire Mashobra Hills. .. he was often seen on a moped careening past Park Street and driving the two-wheeler in frenzied laughter into the gates of St. Xavier’s Calcutta…He had a fabulous sister Durgi who my cousin Mountain (R.I.P) was totally madly and crazily in love with… Amar ..remains A M A R🙏

Bhupi Singh another Curzon stalwart was seen running down the steps with his turban half -tied.. and tucking in his shirt with laces ablaze .. in time for the Breakfast line.. what a good hearted soul was he… R.I.P🙏

Pradeep Pando..  RPS’s giant brother had massive hands and stacking six quarter plates could pick them up with one hand fingers only ..his laughter was louder than the howler monkey and he loved to throw in pearls of wisdom at inter-school debates “ it’s a jargon , where revisionism is a betrayal to the ideas of revolution, where dogmatism  is criminal obscurantism and where fractionalism is a mortal sin”…Let uncut diamonds stay safe as they peer across the Bay of Bengala..

.. and there is Kirit Shah… who flies in to London in his private Lear Jet calling me from the skies above BCS… inviting me to Lunch … “ just bringing my wife across to Harrods for Shopping”.. shipping magnate, rice mills, hotels and a host of others …. he was the quiet one with a naughty interior… loved the Khuds as he saw  Khadu belles cutting grass… and ??!!!.. Matka was another favourite pastime and Rivaz was his haven …

Deepu was another serious hard working rascal who always played fair in tug-o-war. The man was a determined anchor who joked when it was time to get serious. Guts, Glory and Sports the man had an insane stamina and could stand sleeping with his eyes wide open.. his opinion of the world then and now was never questioned … dare not.

Gaddi the cool handsome Surd from Curzon.. and another super asset to our Class of 1970.. he was polished and sparkled the virtues of a true Cottonian…was it Jasbir and later Vikram pray may I ask…you have been a noble gentleman, a shining example as you left trails of perfection..

Chachi always won the prize of a plate of hot samosas and a occasional basin ladoo from Farhat “fat” Paul.The more horse manure Paula churned having nailed a crocodile in Jagadri, the more Chachi improved his calligraphy.. perfect flair of the nob.. thanks to Doric and Paula (who had the hots for Missus Shah..she probably rode his “white pony”)

Chachi was that smiley dude and I remember he sold Saddam Hussain his first platinum plated Audemars Piaget from Nath Watch Magazine in Basra. As a young kid Chachi did resemble the Thief of Baghdad.. no?

Arthur was what Red Royal apples are all about .. what great looks, cunning charmer, snake charmer and ladies charmer.. the Banon boy was fabulous. Rivaz’s precious son who hiked trekked fished and enjoyed the wild outdoors… soul stirring dude whose elders came across from Ireland and the US…. “ only the good die young …” R. I. P🙏

Chun-Chun was that quiet melancholic soul who has left the Ibbetson dorms whispering between cubicles of this gentleman and a scholar … Washington DC beckoned … always , unfailingly coming out on top of our unruly pile Goldie often wished to get in to ChunChun’s brain (like Einstein, Mozart, Beethoven and Brahms).. to see what brilliance he had… he and the Itaian “tinani”were thick ..like minds think alike …

The Chief was another firebrand of the Clan. Nagu is part of tribes Cherokee and Mohican.. and rumour goes a major share holder of Hard Rock cafe..his fork tailed tongue can spit a Cobra dead and he takes no prisoners.. either it’s my way or the highway dude… either you have a straight neck or I will wring your neck … don’t try to schmooze your way to a free frikin aloo tak at Chipu’s  you piece of wretchedness..

Behave Okay …?!

…. it doesn’t matter…

I have arrived at the Gates now ..walking at a slow pace past boundary stone … will we all emerge from different compass points,some clambering up the hill, some descending from Council Rock, some landing at Simla’s airport …some sliding down trees and others on horse back ..? We must arrive… We NEED to arrive…

Do we take roll call and walk in silently past the tennis courts … shedding Rivers of Babylon, hearts beating as we look at each other and step on the sacred grounds… will they be an eerie of quietness as we stand around the fountain and look at the porch as the dining hall doors open… will the Bugler sound the bell as we stand side by side in our house lines …will we hear the echoes of Bharpur Singh’s punishment squad struggling as he shouts “ last three had it .!” As the clock strikes over the war memorial the whirlpool of memories spins like a tornado coming back to life; will we look at the turf on the second flat and shout “ Light Blue Dark Blue Colours of ours, c’mon Cottonians, show them stars”?

Or will we just look at each other as we shrink in size into that time machine that will bring us back to November 1970?

Friends to Family to Friends .. now Family again…

Vivek Bhasin

Dedicated to The Class of 1970

Bishop Cotton School

Simla

(the only friends i made were in BCS … a few later were Cottonians too… My Young Bro a Lefroyan and one Chilean Bro… and a handful on my path to Santiago de Campostela…loads of others I did befriend but converted them into mere acquaintances…).. for me that is life .. even as I walk in the eternal city … heading towards the Vatican …

15th April 2019

OC Capt. Vivek Bhasin’s [Lefroy 1970] visit to BCS

Sent by email to Head Master

Tuesday 02nd April 2019

Head Master
Roy Robinson Esq;
Bishop Cotton School
Simla.

Dear Roy,

Good Evening Sir.

I wish to express my utmost gratitude to you for giving me permission to visit School today 02nd April 2019 to address the Assembly and read today’s lesson from Paul’s Chapter 12.

Further you allowing me to hold a Q&A session with the Upper Sixth. I do hope I managed to give back something, something minutely to the young lads from my global travels and experiences. I trust the spark I lit will be a small positive contribution to their journey today and further when they leave the sacred sanctuary of BCS, entering the “Big Jungle” of a frightening world out there.

It was indeed an emotional reading in the Chapel ; you have been most kind to have always welcomed me to School; also my wife Ann-Sofie, my son Dhani.

You opened the gates to my daughter Radhika and her fiancé Daniel in March 2010; they being BLESSED in our School Chapel prior to their wedding nuptials at Neemrana Fort on 4th April 2010.

You even sent four of your well trained racing pigeons which were released by Radhika on 5th April, the day after her wedding. Three flew back to Bishop Cotton School; one decided to convert to a free spirit and spread good tidings in another free space.

Today I came as a representative of my Class of 1970; we would be celebrating our Golden Jubilee in 2020 and with your kind permission would like to coordinate this in School as per your suggestions and directive.

I was delighted to see continuous improvements in the School, being done with great fervour.

I departed from School today with more humility in my heart, to do good in the world.. always as an Ambassador of Bishop Cotton School.

I would also like to Thank Senior Master Mr Boyd and Mr Praveen Dharma for giving me so much of their time today.

With Warmest Regards and Every Best Wish Sir.

Vivek

Capt. Vivek Bhasin
Lefroy 1961-1970
E: Vivek@SharperEdgeIndia.com
E: +91 98995 61236

—Mr Robinson’s reply–
From: Roy Robinson 
Date: Tue, 2 Apr 2019 at 20:26
Re: Old Cottonian Vivek Bhasin / Visiting BCS 02 April 2019
To: Vivek Bhasin 
Cc:
Mr Anil Mehra 
Mr Davinder Jaaj 
Mr Deep C.Anand Chairman 
Surinder Singh Saron 


Dear Vivek,


It is always a pleasure having you and all well-meaning Cottonians back in school to interact with those currently studying here. 


Warm regards,
Roy

I imagine…

I imagine ….

“The thing I imagine myself being in the future doesn’t exist yet” as I know there is a check list of unfinished business that I need to do in today’s world before I enter the lofty gates of tomorrow’s future.

My elders always talk about “those good old days, those golden days” when time moved at an intelligent pace, a slow wonderful pace. It was a time where every meal was a slow ritual; when every meal was home cooked and my elders enjoyed both culinary delights and healthy conversations. A letter from my Grand Father that took weeks to arrive with the postage stamp of a dancing Peacock was the best happening of the day; the envelope was slit open with a beautiful paper cutter and all around the table stretched their necks with eyes wide open to stare in awe at the beautiful calligraphy on ivory paper, the style of grammar and news from the provinces where the folks lived…

Today the rapid pace is a never ending race against time, levels of stress have reached another dimension. Where the average time spent looking at the screen of a mobile smart phone is three hours a day; it’s not the want of food, nor drink to quench your hunger but the desperation to inform your million face book friends about your every move( friends? really…?).
To quench their thirst with electronic jargon, not whole wheat bread and a thick slice of cheese; the latter is a minority against the power of the mobile that controls our lives.

But enough is enough. 

For me to enter the lofty gates into the future will only happen if I can garner both knowledge and global awareness on working collectively, to slow down our pace, reduce our workloads, and align the Weather Gods to perform their tasks with logical clarity. I want the four seasons to be fantastically beautiful, I want to make sure every weekend is utilised to its fullest with a connect to the great outdoors, away from steel traffic, pollution, abnormal heat and dust, so I can cross the street and all traffic will stop for me, not run over me, where overtime in a Business Process Outsourced office is abolished and the lights switched off at 5.00pm. Where the world dances to happy tunes and I see a green garden where my grand parents look at me as I walk “ slowly “ towards them..
knowing I have so much time to expend on feel, touch and smell, lying on my back to see white fluffy clouds sailing against a blue sky.

In Bishop Cotton School my Head Master R.K von Goldstein read Shakespeare which related to life’s various quests … hope, dreams, love , romance and even gruesome murders and death ..so I could think about what I should expect moving forward, questions that needed to be disseminated and understood with clarity which we expressed in slow soft clear English writing with Doric Pens dipped in Quink ink..

It’s the simplicity of life that I will strive to achieve in my world today so my children enjoy a more beautiful futuristic world tomorrow. Only then, only then.

*****

(Vivek) Bhasin
Lefroy 1961-1970

Christmas letter from Vivek Bhasin

Christmas Letter 2018
“ the meaning of nothing “

From the artic circle running through Sweden…

I sit me down and attempt to rewind the year that went by..

Just for you and him and them excitement, happiness, elation and possibly even sadness made this year….

I have been shuttling between Scandinavia and India ( and my homeland Simla, Mashobra and Bishop Cotton School!)…. and as I write my last lines of this year with the winter solstice upon us I think back on 2018 with both splendid cheer … a year and a tear older. 

The Swedish winter is always cold and crispy blue and with some snow on the ground the swedes are running helter skelter to replenish their larders with Christmas fare… bountiful eating and drinking and merry making … the Christmas Ham is a speciality and the main course amongst a variety of herring, Jonsson’s Temptation ( a baked dish with shredded new potatoes, cream , cheese and anchovies ) that is accompanied by Akvavit ( in Latin the “water of life “potent shot made with fermented potatoes…

The Swedes have always performed with utmost precision having increased their forest cover by more than 60% over the last 30 years; they even control their population … ( since the last 38 years I have been residing in Sweden the population has increased from 8 million to 10 million ..and they are “worried” about over population .. taking proactive steps)….Guess Making Love not Babies … and skiing ⛷! As though nothing ever happened …

The Ministry of 
NOTHING
NO SUCH THING
Yes…isn’t it true when someone … an outsider … a non Cottonian, an outsider asks me about BCS .. I respond “ forget it… it’s nothing” as I really don’t need to explain nor clarify nor equate nor benchmark our Alma mater with others… you and I know what our School was all about .. what it is with it’s deodars, with its weeping willows, it’s grand chestnut tree and the riot of colours in the Head Master’s garden… and our dorms, our dining hall , our Irwin Hall and our Beautiful Chapel..

..cause when we lived in that cradle on the spur of that great mountain and looked at the Tara Devi gap and saw heat and steam and dust out yonder we became part of India’s greatest institution… each brick, mortar, white wash and our heartbeat makes that amazing citadel of ours precious, sacred and lofty .. with great humility… 

We may have both famous and infamous boys who walked our corridors into history; who stamped their impressions in our minds and souls but we have no need to boast nor shout … to others we express nothingness … to “each other” we simply nod and hug as brothers with green-red-dark blue and light blue blood running through our veins…we stand apart, always will.

The complicated world is where we live in…. but we are privileged to sit on the benches to look out over the second flat and beyond…. yes in our complicated world… our BCS is our shrine to return to and untangle our complicated lives for brief beautiful moments….
as Hard Rocker’s Metallica said “ nothing really matters”

Wishing all Cottonians, The Head Master and his staff of all sorts..
A Peaceful Christmas and a Blessed New Year🙏

Christmas 2018
Vivek Bhasin
Lefroy 1961-1970
.. having walked the Camino to Santiago de Campostela a distance of 550 Km so far…
with miles to go……

AN ABSOLUTE PILLAR OF BISHOP COTTON SCHOOL JOHN WHITMARSH KNIGHT – passed on

AN ABSOLUTE PILLAR OF BISHOP COTTON SCHOOL
JOHN WHITMARSH KNIGHT

I am deeply deeply grieved to be the bearer of sad news…

A noble soul a gentleman and a scholar, my mentor since 1999 though I can swear by The Almighty that he was omnipresent in me from the day I was born, John Whitmarsh Knight breathed his last, last evening Friday ( 9th Nov 2018) TBC ….. I was informed. I sit here in Delhi and whirl of memories of this amazing gentleman are hovering around me….

He was the most honest, transparent and forthright Gentleman and I was Blessed to have known him … I spent years in Weybridge with him and he taught me the path to becoming a well formed human being…

..whilst in the UK under the auspices of the OCA UK we orchestrated his tenure at the greatest school in the planet : OUR BISHOP COTTON SCHOOL… he worked tirelessly in School and he not only taught English but was a mentor to the boys …

he looked at the world with the widest photo lens and the boys during his years looked up to him to as a Global Citizen who played his part in giving them an all around education …

My Brother Sharat and his wife Rupa ALWAYS hosted him in transit to School and the UK at their place in Gurgaon…

John was steadfast in his views and saw the world in Black and White .. he stayed away from politics and intrigues and falsehood … and his own tuition and guidance was under his Uncle Tubby Whitmarsh Knight… John was School Captain, Rugby Captain at Dulwich College where Ernest Shackleton and PG Wodehouse hailed from …

He strived to instill good noble values in the Boys at BCS…(he never forgave me for his termination at BCS .. due to ill health.. “ VIVEK , I could have lived in Chandigarh and continued to have mentored to Boys if they chose to visit me… as I WISHED to die in India…”)

I am weeping incessantly for John Whitmarsh… he passed away all alone … a confirmed Bachelor in Addlestone / Weybridge…

I CAN ONLY PLEAD TO HEAD MASTER MR ROY ROBINSON TO HAVE AN EXTENDED SERVICE FOR JOHN WHITMARSH KINGHT
I CAN ONLY PLEAD TO ALL THE OCA CHAPTER MEMBERS, COTTONIANS WORLD WIDE TO PLEASE PRAY FOR THIS ABSOLUTE SUPERB GENTLEMAN WHO LOVED INDIA, DEEPLY LOVED BISHOP COTTON SCHOOL… HE WAS A MAJOR CONTRIBUTOR DURING THE SESQUICENTENNIAL CELEBRATIONS ( ALWAYS IN THE BACK GROUND)
I CAN ONLY PLEAD TO
THE OCA UK CHAIRMAN TO PLEASE ARRANGE A VERY BEFITTING TRIBUTE AND FUNERAL FOR JOHN….

I am not sure who is there for John and his beautiful belongings ..??

“ John…. Thank You Sir for being a part of my life… I can see you sitting in your lounge surrounded by your 2000 Books … looking at your garden and reciting quotes from Shakespeare, Keats, Shelly and Wordsworth…… someday Sir… I too will meet you .. in that special garden.. so we can continue ….”

AMEN
Vivek Bhasin